The Torture Of Chris Redfield
by WereGarurumonX
Summary: Jake has unfinished business with Chris. Contains some naughty language and adult situations. Male/Male.
1. The Torture Of Chris Redfield

The Torture Of Chris Redfield

_Disclaimer: Capcom owns Biohazard/Resident Evil and all related characters. _

_Rating: M_

_Summary: Jake has unfinished business._

_Warning: Depictions of torture and use of strong language._

_Author's notes: This is a one-shot so far. I'm not sure whether to classify this drama or humour._

* * *

"You killed my father." Jake spat at the feet of his enemy. His hate was directed at him with an unequaled spite even he felt he was incapable off.

"Why do you care? —You didn't even know him. I did."

Chris Redfield felt another fist hit his jaw, light, but bruising. Inflicting pain but not enough to give Jake the satisfaction he needed.

"I said that this wasn't over _Redfield_." He said Chris' name with such disgust, like he was a lesser being.

"So your solution was to kidnap and torture me? I thought you'd better than him… guess not." Chris smirked internally, not letting Jake on to the fact that he found a secret pleasure in seeing Weskers' eyes in his—his old enemy reborn. It just wasn't the same without his old archrival and although he hated his guts, he couldn't hate Jake and certainly didn't blame him for having Albert Weskers' twisted bloodline,

"I don't care! I never had a chance to know him! And now I'm gonna take a piece of you like you took a piece of me." Jake said, that passing humor in his tone ever-present, like he really didn't care about anything or anyone but himself.

Chris hissed, feeling another punch crunch in to his abdomen. He twisted about in the ropes that looped over a pipe in the ceiling- that bound his hands together and left him hanging in the center of a dark room, possibly some sewer hideout of Jakes, he didn't care about where he was, he only cared about getting out. His feet were not bound; he simply hung by the arms, his legs a deadweight under him.

"You won't kill me." Stated Chris.

"I'm not gonna kill ya moron." Jake sneered, taking a fistful of Chris' hair, raising his head and making him look him in the eyes. "This isn't about revenge."

"Then what is this about?" Chris queried, curious about the dim fire in jakes' eyes—familiar, but yet completely strange. He found only one eye could open, a stinging pain in the other, he just knew he had a nasty black eye and a cut lip as he also tasted blood.

Jake didn't immediately answer; he just snorted back a laugh and threw Chris' head back while he turned his back, retrieving a briefcase from the floor at his feet.

Chris felt a jolt of fear but would not ever give Jake the satisfaction of knowing the fear that was rushing through him. He felt helpless and weak, locked behind a muscular man that was tied up and at the mercy of another male. He wouldn't let Jake's psychological bullshit get to him.

"I'm gonna have me some fun." Jake licked his lips, looking like an excited boy who had found something special and was showing his father.

The strung-up soldier dared to let his eyes wander up to see what the former Mercenary was holding; a black briefcase, opened and held out for Chris to look upon it's contents.

There was a slim smile emerging across the face of Jake. He was enjoying this.

Chris most certainly wasn't. The contents of the briefcase were not something Chris was interested in indulging in; a pair of scissors for one was pulled out and waved in front of Chris' face, scratching against his stubble. He tried not to react, all he could do was close his eyes and think of other things.

Weskers' son had his cruel streak—there was no doubt about that. Even Jake wasn't sure what he was doing but he seemed to find more of an answer the more he hurt Redfield.

"This isn't what I would call _fun_." Chris said, growing ever uncomfortable with the sharp steel grazing his jawline, and scraping dangerously close to his ear lobe.

Whatever Chris had just said was apparently the wrong thing, as Jake scowled, and sliced behind Chris' ear—drawing blood. He hissed in pain, feeling his eyes and mouth water. He'd felt worse, sure, but sometimes it was the little cuts that were the worst.

"This isn't about your fun _Redfield_." Jake growled, pressing the sharpness of the scissors against the other man's muscled neck. "This is about getting even… thus fun… for _me_."

Just keep him talking, Chris thought. "Even for what?" He muttered, keeping his teeth clenched. "For killing a man who killed thousands? For defending myself and saving the world? Or for killing a man who fucked and left your mom?" Chris smirked, bringing another vicious cut—across Chris' abdomen, tearing his shirt. "That's it isn't it? You're just _jealous_… that you didn't get to take a shot at him. Did I steal your thunder Jake?" Chris let out a grim laugh, now _he_ was enjoying it.

"Fuck no!" Jake spat, and smacked Chris hard across the other jaw so hard he himself swayed off balance. "I tell you something—you have a fuckin' ego problem man, you gotta get over yourself." Jake's voice was shaky; either he was getting angrier, or he was losing his resolve.

Chris shuddered sharply, recoiling hard as he felt the cold steel slide underneath his shirt against the bare skin of his abdomen.

The scissors were used; cutting unceremoniously and jaggedly all the way up, to his neck, making the material fall open and reveal his bared and scarred skin to Jake, who bit his lower lip in anticipation. "Man, you must work out." He said, not a compliment in the slightest. Punch after punch came, to Chris's ribs, to Chris's abs, and round again, and again, leaving heavy purple bruises on his chest.

Each strike send Chris's body reeling on it's bindings, he tensed for each blow and found himself swinging all the more from the spiteful impact as Jake used his upper body as a punching bag.

It was at this moment Chris was grateful for Jakes inheritance, the super speed punches left him stinging but at least it was over after a few seconds. He was throbbing all over and felt exhausted, going slack against the wrist bindings.

"You have some serious daddy issues…" Chris panted.

"You don't know me." Jake simply said, flexing his knuckles. He edged closer and sniggered seeing the other man flinch as his hands came at him again. He instead of punching him twisted his nipples, driving a pained grunt from Chris. "Now shut up." Jake smirked, reaching for his own belt.

"The hell?" Chris panted, and suddenly, feeling panic, started thrashing about, trying to twist out of the rope painfully gripping at his wrists.

"Don't get all excited." Jake unhooked his belt and whipped it through the loops. His pants sagged down his hips in response but held well without the leather belt. Their eyes locked, Chris warning him silently to back off, Jake however had a wicked gleam in his eyes, something that said he was having way too much fun.

Jake rounded Chris like a shark eyeing it's prey, making Chris uncomfortable as he tried to turn his head to look over his shoulder to see the other man going behind him. He was getting paranoid and Jake was evidently winning his little game.

A whip cracked against his back.

"Argh! _Fuck_!" Chris grit his teeth and squeezed shut his eyes at the sharp, stinging pain as the leather belt cracked against the remnants of his torn shirt.

"You like that Redfield huh?" Jake taunted, and whipped again.

"Fuck no!" He yelled, grunting as a third strike crisscrossed his muscular back and over his shoulders. He fought only harder, struggling and using his legs to try and sidestep the vicious torture, though at the height he was hanging by, he could barely touch the floor and he hadn't the strength to swing about.

"Yeah? Good. That's the point!" He grunted, delivering one last hard crack.

The exertion left both men exhausted, panting and gasping for breath; Jake threw the belt down and had to flop down in to a steel chair to catch his breath.

"Are we done here?" Chris gasped; finding the opportunity while Jake was down to try talking some sense in to him. Jake didn't respond. "If you are wanting an apology, you have it; I'm sorry you don't have a father. But I won't apologize for killing Wesker."

Jake seemed to hear him, and shook his head in annoyance, standing up quickly and kicking the chair away. "I don't want a fuckin' apology… I… want… I don't know, okay. I don't know what I'm doing here."

Chris lifted his eyes to look at the other man; he was stressing out bad, pacing back and forth like he was suffering some kind of drug relapse, hands on the back of his shaved head. He felt bad for him. For all Jakes stupid heroic bravado, he was just a scared confused kid inside.

"Jake." Chris said quietly, trying to apply to his sense of reason. "I understand."

He waited. And when Jake stopped pacing, he continued.

"You're looking for someone to blame."

Jake looked at him, disorganized and repentant. "That's right." He straightened up again, that gleam returning to his eyes. "And I'm blaming you; deal with it."

Chris rolled his eyes and sighed, it was becoming less than likely Jake would let him go and he relented his struggling. "Just let me go… we can go somewhere and talk." He felt stupid, like Jake would ever fall for that.

"Pfft. Nice shoes." Jake said, kicking at Chris's feet. "I think I'll take 'em."

And he did. Getting to his knees and half unlacing Chris's shoes before impatiently yanking them off.

"So you are letting me go?" Chris asked.

"Whoa-whoa you're jumping the gun a bit there aren't ya?" Jake sniggered, picking up the downed chair again and sitting.

"But you _are_ letting me go aren't you?" Chris tried again.

Jake snorted, not so much as looking at him as he yanked off his own boots one at a time and replacing them with the pair he stole from Chris. They were a little tight, but that wasn't the point, he was displaying his dominance he had over the other man.

"You talk too much man." Jake shook his head, turning his attention back to the briefcase.

Chris felt hot, sweat was already dripping down his body he didn't think he could take much more of Jake's flailing brutality. He quirked his brow in confusion however, when Jake emerged from his box of tools with a roll of thick duct tape.

"What're you-" Before Chris could ask what the devious smirk of Jake's face was about, he felt his socks being pulled off, something that only puzzled him further.

"Shut… up." He said with a tone of humor in his icy voice.

"Mmfg!" Chris tried to fight back as he felt Jake stuff his socks in to his mouth and quickly seal it shut with the duct tape. He gagged on the material filling his mouth and renewed his struggling with a new vigor.

"That's better." Jake smirked, squeezing Chris's cheeks. "You know I think I got a lot out of this session. Some real soul-searching shit." He left Chris hanging there, with no move to release him at all as he clicked shut the briefcase and picked up his own discarded boots and looked back at the victimized soldier, winking. "Thanks _Redfield_."

Jakes wicked sense of humor was lost on Chris, who didn't find hanging by his wrists, bloodied and beaten with socks stuffed in his mouth very funny. But apparently Jake did, whose shoulders were visibly shaking with laughter as he turned his back departing the scene—feeling much less burdened.


	2. The Revenge Of Chris Redfield

Chapter 2: The Revenge Of Chris Redfield

_Disclaimer: Capcom owns Biohazard/Resident Evil and all related characters. _

_Rating: M_

_Summary: After Chris' rather nasty torture at the hands of Jake—Chris wants his own payback._

_Warning: Graphic depictions of male sex. This is even gayer than the first chapter._

_Author's notes: This was originally a one-shot, but as of now it is a two-shot, just because I had the idea for a sequel immediately after completion and saw some potential in continuing. So here we are. Cover your eyes._

* * *

Jakes wicked sense of humor was lost on Chris, who didn't find hanging by his wrists, bloodied and beaten with socks stuffed in his mouth very funny. But apparently Jake did, whose shoulders were visibly shaking with laughter as he turned his back departing the scene—feeling much less burdened.

Chris however, was exhausted and fuming with frustration. What had Jake been thinking? And what had been his purpose here? Rightfully angry or not, Chris wasn't going to just let him get away with this. It wouldn't be easy, but while he was hanging there by his wrists, he figured he wasn't going anywhere soon, and so begun to hatch his elaborate scheme of revenge.

Obviously, Jake went all-out in capturing and kidnapping Chris Redfield, although it wasn't too hard; his usual hangouts were the bar or his place—he sneered at his own inability to just once be unpredictable like Jake.

Finding him would be a problem, and since he had left Chris hanging in a dark lowly space all alone, it was fairly obvious that he didn't want to be found. But there was no way he was simply going to give up, given the effort the other man had put in to his own capture—he could do the same. And thus a rivalry was reborn.

This was probably a bad idea. Chris had no idea of the full scale of Jake's skills and capturing him would likely result in a rather embarrassing death. Facing someone with any degree of Albert Wesker's powers was not an attractive idea to Chris—or to anyone for that matter. But he was willing to risk it if it meant giving Jake what he had coming to him.

His knowledge of his opponent was slim—they'd only met once outside of the chaos, and that was when Chris found himself unconscious from a bat to the back of the head and waking up in the current predicament that had him tied up and hanging helplessly. He knew he had to find a way to get payback on Jake, and doing what he did—Chris couldn't bear the thought of whipping someone's back just to get his message through.

No, he would have to plan something else.

So, he thought while he thrashed and twisted in his bindings, eager to escape this dismal place. The blood that trickled down his body from the various wounds inflicted on him by Wesker's son only bolstered his resolve—his need to escape and wipe that smirk off of Jake Muller's goddamn face.

By the time Chris had his plan—fixed in the annals of his mind, Chris broke free of his bindings. It didn't take him long once he managed to build up the strength to lift his legs and get them up to the pipe he hung from, all he had to do was climb over the pipes and land safely back on the floor.

He looked around the dark room, it was almost completely black, wiuth no windows or visible light source. He was almost thankful that his time spent in the hole had granted him the ability to see in the darkness. He followed the sound of dripping on metal and found that there was a rusty old iron door—which he swung open and followed along the sewer line to the nearest escape man hole, and left the darkness behind him.

Three days later and Chris Redfield was still recovering from his injuries, the painful torn flesh stung as he wrapped himself in bandages. He could still taste the sock on his tongue, but his recovery would have to wait. Chris was excited. He was more than eager to see Jake squirm like the rat he was.

Sure, his plan wasn't perfect, but he didn't imagine Jake spent many days contemplating how he would smack Chris over the head and drag him in to a sewer. He scoffed. Had it really been all that easy? He at least hoped he'd have put up a fight, but then again—he was pretty drunk at the time.

And hence, this is how he came up with a plan. Jake was a well-known wild boy, but he was also a loner, and spent some nights drinking himself unconscious in some hideout or hovel that he had found to squat in until it was time to move on. Maybe it would be as easy as dragging his stoned and drunken ass out of some hole to capture him.

It wasn't Chris' style to be vindictive, he had learned his lesson to let things go the day he lost his whole team, it was no good to dwell on the past. But if he wouldn't give Jake a good kick in his self-assured ass, then who would? Sherry Birkin?

He laughed at that thought. He knew they had been seeing each other—kind of. But it wasn't the kind of relationship Sherry deserved—some ex-mercenary, mean-spirited selfish asshole. He'd never understand what Sherry wanted, and that's why they didn't live together. Jake was constantly on the run and he refuse to let Sherry follow him on any more of his treacherous travels—at least he wasn't selfish enough to ruin her life like he had his own.

But if anyone knew where Jake was hiding, it was Sherry Birkin. He didn't like what he was becoming, scheming and vindictive; asking his enemies on/off girlfriends where he is hiding; threatening them in to spilling it… it just wasn't him. But he would have to man-up and talk to Sherry because this had to be done.

"Oh, hi Chris." Sherry sounded down, answering the door to her small apartment. Her hair was messy and it looked like she'd just woken up.

"Are you okay?" Chris asked, stepping inside. Even though she was a grown woman now, Claire and Chris still saw that little girl in her. Leon however, would think it appropriate to grab her and threaten her in to revealing the location of his enemy if Jake had not stepped in. Again, Jake proved himself to care more about her than he let on. Leon however proved rather selfish.

Chris disliked Leon, his masochistic obsession over a exploitative woman; Ada Wong, had almost been their downfall. He didn't get women, Chris always thought he'd grow out of it and settle down. But he was well in to his thirties now—no girlfriend, it was becoming suspicious.

Then again, Jill didn't show much romantic interest in Chris either, they had so many opportunities to develop their relationship in to something more, but time and time again they seemed to repel each other. Chris was suspicious for the both of them.

He shook his head, the thoughts of Leon and Jill leaving his mind, he had a personal vendetta against Jake now, and his missions were never left unattended. Asking Sherry wouldn't be easy, he wasn't as dumb as Leon to just neglect her feelings and barge through.

"Just tired. Hard night." Sherry said, pouring some coffee.

Chris nodded, not bothering to sit down. The place was a bit of a mess.

"Oh my God… what happened to you?" Her eyes went wide as she saw the black eye and bruised jaw. Given any normal day this wouldn't be much of a surprise, but Sherry was always concerned when she saw someone obviously in pain. Sweet thing she was. "Who did this to you?"

"Your boyfriend." Chris said blankly, staring as he gauged her reaction. Oddly enough she didn't seem too surprised, but then she bit her lip and looked down in a cute way.

"What do you mean?" She asked nonchalantly walking to the sink to hide the fact that she was trying to avoid this conversation.

Chris smiled to himself. He knew she knew where Jake was. "I wanna know where he is Sherry."

She quickly turned to face him then, worry in her eyes, her act had worn off as quick as it appeared.

"You won't hurt him will you?" She stared at Chris, fiercely through such little eyes. He wanted to lie through his teeth, make her feel better. It was obvious she was protecting him and he didn't want her to go against any of her principles—this wasn't personal.

"I promise I won't hurt him. I just want to talk with him." Chris said, half-truthfully. She leaned against the sink, fingers digging in to her shirt. She looked skeptical but that wasn't his problem.

"Okay."

Sherry didn't tell him everything, but then again he didn't need to know everything. He got the name of his current hideout—an upper floor of a condemned factory in the industrial district across the rail yard. He had promised not to hurt Jake, and that lie had plagued his consciousness all the way there. He'd apologize later.

It was night and he wore all black, his skills of stealth hadn't had much opportunity to develop, but he fancied his chances of being able to sneak inside and get a hold of his enemy.

The place wasn't as quiet as he expected, he found Jake, luckily asleep, with his back to him and an empty whiskey bottle in-hand and lying in front of a loud television. Apparently the place still had some power because he also had a radio switched on sitting on a windowsill.

Jake was snoring.

"Hope you're ready for this Muller you surly son of a bitch…" And with that, Chris dove on the sleeping figure.

It wasn't until it was too late, that Chris realized he had landed on a decoy. Within seconds, the dressed-up plastic mannequin he had landed on broke under him and he heard a gun cock behind him.

"What do we have here? Redfield lookin' for a bit of payback?"

Chris didn't turn around but he knew Jake was smiling triumphantly. He should have known there would be some goddamn thing in his way. "I didn't think you had the balls… I guess I was wrong. Not that I'm happy or pleased or anything, but you impressed me… too bad I'm not that stupid eh?"

Chris' hands were up in the air, surrendering. The chances are he could have reached for his own handgun, however knowing Jake as skilled as he was would have gunned him down before even thinking about it.

"N-ah… Don't even _think_ about it… the gun—drop it."

Chris did. Reluctantly pulling the handgun from his hip-holster, he turned and threw the weapon at Jake's feet. His face showed scorn and defeat—Jake was obviously high on the thrill of beating Chris yet again because there was no gun in Jake's hands. He was smirking and holding a cigarette lighter, which he threw down, in favor of Chris' gun. "Thanks for this Redfield I didn't know you cared man."

Chris groaned and rolled his eyes. He had been tricked again. And now not only did he fall in to another trap, but willingly gave up his only weapon too. He felt screwed. "Jake…" He warned, giving him a chance to lower the gun. But Jake just scoffed and shook his head.

"No way." The gun wasn't lowered but his posture was visibly lazy. "I caught you. Now you gotta do as I say." He wasn't smiling anymore but his ever-present casual tone was set in his voice as he twirled the gun in his hands.

The soldier didn't like the sound of that. He shuffled his feet; aching from being made to stand on the spot that Jake had fixed him under. This was a bad situation, but on the bright side, at least he hadn't been knocked out and tied up again, so far he was seemingly reasonable.

The man holding the gun had pulled an apple out of his back pocket and crunched the juicy fruit as if he wasn't holding a man hostage. "Now strip."

Chris cocked his head. What the hell was he asking here? Chris had already given up his shoes, his gun and his pride; he wasn't willing to give up his gear too. He gave him a look as if to ask him if he was serious, a half smirk came in response from the other man, who waved the gun about casually, not s much as looking up from his apple. "Yeah, I'm serious—now _strip_."

"Not a chance." Chris scoffed and put his hands on his hips, already gathering that at this point, Jake wasn't seriously going to shoot him. But was he seriously going to risk that?

"Your choice." Jake replied, surprising Chris in to a blank expression. "I just though you might wanna get this over with is all…" He took a bite of his apple. "…'Cause you know I'll come after ya again. Then you'll try to get back at me and I'll trick ya again. It's gonna be one hell of a life, always looking over your shoulder—I couldn't stand it, but If you can, hey that's fine with me."

Jake was taunting him, he knew. But the idea of getting this over with there and then was a very attractive proposition to Chris, who took moments to consider this option more carefully.

"So this rivalry thing… we'll be done?" Chris asked skeptically.

"Yep." Another bite. "That is if you agree to leaving me alone too. I know I don't act like it, but a guy like me needs peace too y'know."

"Yeah, I get it." Maybe this was too easy? Chris shrugged but didn't make a move; he was worried Jake may be speaking sarcastically as his tongue often did. Then again, if it only meant a while without any more macho bullshit from Jake, then he would sleep a lot easier. He took one step forward.

But when Jake cleared his throat, his eyes quickly snapped up to meet his—he was smirking. "Hold it hero, we're not done yet." He said, crossing his arms and tossing the apple over his shoulder and readjusting his aim and cocking his head. Chris then remembered Jake's earlier request.

"You gotta be kidding me? Why would you want me to get my junk out?"

Jake scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Did I say that? I don't think so. Now strip." Jake was hard to peg, Chris would admit, his face barely reacted but he had an undertone in his voice that was certainly not serious. So one was never sure if he was being deadly serious.

Chris wondered if now was a good time to let Jake on to the fact that the handgun in fact, had no bullets.

"This is getting tedious, either you're gonna strip or I'm gonna follow you to the ends of the Earth screaming revenge… your choice."

And what a choice Chris had. He had no option.

Jake smirked proudly as Chris twisted out of his jacket, letting it drop noisily to the floor. This was embarrassing. There was no question that Jake was getting off on this; bragging to his friends how he made the great hero Chris Redfield submit and surrender. It left a bitter taste in his mouth but he would deal with that when the time came.

Next came Chris's boots, which he toed off while slipping his black t-shirt over his arms, baring his firm muscled physique to Jake's strangely hungry eyes.

"You little tease." Jake taunted with a laugh, clearly more amused than he perhaps should have been. This whole revenge thing wasn't really working in Chris' favor—he felt like an idiot, but then again, he had nothing to be embarrassed about, he had a good body and felt no hindrance in showing off. And besides… it wasn't like Jake had a camera or anything.

"What the hell are you doing?" Chris grunted, stopping just as his fingers reached the clasp of the belt on his black combat fatigues. His eyes trailed to the other man, whose own fingers flicked the 'record' button on his cell phone.

"Just makin' a little memento Redfield, you got a problem?"

Chris clenched his teeth; this man was really starting to get to him. He took a rushed step forward, but Jake recoiled back and sat atop an empty crate.

"Knock it off—I'm not playing games." Chris fought back, finally voicing his opinion. He took a step agreeing to do this, what Jake was doing was starting to cross the line and he wasn't going to let him continue to walk all over him. But what he didn't know was that Jakes only intention was to play games.

"Hold it right there you bitch-ass." Chris complied with his command—strangely, he complied. "Good boy, you're learning quick." Jake lit up a cigarette and stuck it in his own mouth while he left the phone recording, leaning against the bottom of the crate. "You see now Chrissy-boy, all I gotta do, is press send, and all your little soldier buddies get this nice vid of you getting naked for me… so you'd better behave—ya?"

"You bastard!" Chris spat, but realized, he had just better get this over with. He didn't believe Jake would send the video, but again, he didn't know Jake Muller.

"Heyy! That's not nice." Jake raised his eyebrow, sitting down on the floor cross-legged so he could hold the phone in his hands, acting like some kind of professional who cared more about the camera angle than the perverted intention of the video he was making, and indeed—blackmailing him with. "Now are ya gonna be a good boy or am I gonna have to give ya a spankin'?" Jake was deadpan, puffing out smoke as he sat there.

Chris tried to say something, but the words caught in his throat. He continued, reaching for his belt, and unclasping it. Jake just watched on through the screen of his phone like he wasn't even paying attention. That kind of pissed Chris off, and he felt weird about why it did, and didn't want to think about it because his face was red as hell and he wanted to take his mind of the stirrings.

"Did I say stop?" Chris looked at him incredulously, his pants around his ankles, wearing nothing else but his white briefs. Their eyes met and Chris couldn't quite tell what exactly Jake was getting out of this. He hated that.

"I thought you weren't gay?" His suspicions rose and Chris had to force a laugh from his dry throat, just to break the weird atmosphere. Jake looked up at him, twirling the cigarette between his fingers.

"This isn't about gay or straight… or bisexual." Jake was sounding almost like there was a lecture coming on. "This is about dominance. It's about making you see who top-dog is around here."

"Wesker?" Chris butted in.

Jake scoffed.

"Fuck no… well maybe a little. It just pisses me off." Jake sounded almost sad, but not quite, more nostalgic. "It's not fair. Do you kill a lot of people's fathers without thinking about their families Redfield?"

"Do you?" Chris countered.

"Fuck yes." He stubbed the rapidly smoked cigarette out under the heel of his boot. "That's the point… Wesker deserved to die. But who were you to do it? Who am I to hate you for doing it? So… here and now, we will affirm that in the future… maybe we all need to do a lot more thinking before we act."

"That's it?" Chris asked disbelievingly, he had his hands on his hips, looking silly in just his underwear. "Just affirmation…Top-dogs?"

Jake shrugged. "I guess I'm just bored." He snickered, and so did Chris.

"So you want me to...?" Chris looked down, thumbs slipping under the waistband of his undies.

"Oh yeah… almost forgot about that." Jake lied.

Chris shrugged and without a moments hesitation, dropped his underwear, revealing to Jake his manhood; thick but flaccid ten inch length that curved slightly at the end as Chris gripped the base and balls in both hands.

All the while, Jake kept the camera pointed, capturing as much as he could in the television light and through the smoke. He was surprised to find Chris was stroking himself without command.

"Whoa—what-re ya doin' there " Jake, zoomed in the camera and focused the best he could with the crappy cell phone camera quality. "And he's going rogue!" Jake sounded genuinely impressed, standing up and going in for the kill, getting close, but not so close that it would be considered gay…er.

"Just showing what this underdog can do." Chris taunted, stroking his huge length from base to tip. He was running on instinct now and Jake wasn't stopping him, in fact he seemed to be encouraging him to go all the way—unusual for a straight guy, but then again he did like to dominate the pack, and witnessing such a private moment meant Chris allowed him some power over him. Not his choice but there he was, stood in front of Jake Muller, masturbating and letting him record it for some weird reason.

"Enjoying the show?" Chris wheezed out, gripping his excited shaft in both hands, and quickly it became engorged and erect, fully and impressive in hands.

Jake didn't seem to appreciate the words, and shamelessly smacked Chris's cock with the back of his hand making Chris hiss in shock at the uncomfortable stinging sensation, bringing pre come leaking from the tip. But thankfully that's all Jake did as he stepped back and walked around the aroused Chris Redfield, getting shots of his ass before going front-side again.

"Just like that…" Jakes breath was ragged and if Chris didn't know better, he'd swear Jake was sweating quite profusely and palming the front of his black jeans when he though Chris wouldn't notice.

His engorged member wouldn't last much longer, his casual tugging had evolved in a an erratic fisting and he was panting with exertion from the sheer effort he was putting in; he wanted to show how much of a man he was to this kid who made him go this far.

There wasn't much Jake was involving himself in, he seemed quite happy watching and recording this rather sordid moment.

Chris clearly didn't give a shit that Jake didn't ask for this.

"Did you get off on me whipping you too?" Belittled Jake.

Much to Chris's own disgust—he couldn't say no, he just jacked himself harder, and pumped faster, like he was on the brink. This was definitely going to happen now, and Chris wondered what the repercussions of his actions could have on his life.

What Jake said earlier; 'Maybe we all need to do a bit more thinking before we act.' It became transparent that Chris still had some learning to do.

"Uh! Fuck!" Chris grunted, unable to stop the spurting of come that spilled forth over his knuckles and squirted drops across the dusty boarded floor.

"Alright Redfield!" Jake laughed, deftly dodging a last spurt of come as Chris milked himself, panting and gasping with satisfaction. "Nearly hit me there, you gotta watch your aim!" Jake stopped the recording of the video and slapped Chris on the shoulder.

"Yeah thanks." Chris paid no heed to Jake's relentless teasing, and flicked come off his fingers. Suddenly, feeling self-conscious, his cock had softened and he felt a sudden need to get dressed, and quickly slipped up his combat pants—without underwear.

Since Jake didn't order him against getting dressed, he assumed he had brought him some level of satisfaction too, and shoved his feet in to his boots, reaching for his t-shirt with all urgency. He wanted to get the hell out of there before Jake decided they weren't finished.

"Was that good enough?" Chris bravely asked.

Jake didn't seem to care; he was busying himself with the cell phone.

Finally, Chris felt relief fill him as he heard his belt buckle snap on. He liked to hide his exposure behind his macho soldier appearance. He was debating just walking the hell out of there, but then again, did he want to?

"Yeah you're alright Redfield." Jake said indifferently as he flopped down with his back against the wall. He had a suspicious smirk on his face that could only spell trouble, but he would worry about that later.

Chris nodded, not saying another word as he slipped the handgun back in it's holster and downed the stairs and practically ran out of the door as fast as his legs could carry him, sighing greatly in relief as the nightmare—if that's what he really wanted to call it, was over.

Jake however, was highly satisfied with his successes, and would continue to be amused following the evening's events and when he pressed 'send' on his phone—sending the dirty video Chris starred in to selected contacts, he got a good laugh out of it… at Chris Redfield's expense of course. Maybe he would think twice in the future about trying against hope to get one up on Jake Muller. Because that was a game he wasn't going to win.


	3. The Aftermath Of Chris Redfield

_Chapter 3 – The Aftermath Of Chris Redfield_

_Disclaimer: Capcom owns all related Characters._

_Rating: M_

_Summary: Chris deals with the aftermath of his actions._

_Warning: Some Male/Male_

_Authors Notes: Yes. Piers is alive. It's a FANFICTION so that is allowed, don't get all nerdy saying "But Piers is dead"—I'm aware, thanks. It's just a bit of fun. Enjoy._

* * *

It didn't take Chris Redfield more than a good nights sleep to realize something was wrong—very wrong.

And it didn't take a genius to work out Jake Muller and the previous night's events were somehow involved. His first clue came when he received an early morning text from none other than Leon Scott Kennedy stating:

_'You have got some problems man, good luck.'_

Now this in itself didn't seem that unusual. What was strange at all was the fact that Leon had contacted him at all. They had barely spoken in the entire history of them knowing each other since they had quite a few differences of opinion in the past that resulted in them not being able to become outright friends. And that was just fine with both of them. And so he wasn't too shocked when he received a non-too friendly sounding text from him in the early hours, but he just ignored the text and put his cell phone back down on the bedside table.

So his revenge plan didn't exactly turn out so well, but he wouldn't loose any sleep over it, despite the vague feeling in his stomach that he should have made sure Jake wasn't up to anything suspect before he left. But as he pondered the nights events, he quickly entered the realm of sleep, all the over excitement had taken it's toll on him and he slept like a rock as soon as he eyes drifted closed.

The next morning provided Chris with his second clue, which came as a loud knock on the door while he was sleepily shuffling his way towards the bathroom. He rolled his eyes, pre-9am visitors were never good, so he relented going for a piss and pulled on the closest visible article of clothing; The black combat pants that had been discarded lazily in a pile on the floor. He almost fell over getting his legs in but once he did, he had gathered a fair amount of irritation centered on the relentless knocking at the door of his apartment.

"Alright! What?!" He unbolted the door and yanked it open. His eyes blinked rapidly as he adjusted to the ugly dim yellow lights of the hallway outside. "_Piers_? What are you doing here?"

Piers Nivans awkwardly barged his way past a dumbfounded, very shirtless Chris Redfield and found himself pacing around inside his superior's small kitchen. "If you'll forgive my language Captain: What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?" Piers was flustered, visibly irate and more than a little upset.

"I thought you were dead." Chris deadpanned; closing the door, figuring this was going to be one of _those_ kinds of talks. He was still so very sleepy, and found he was too tired to bother moving from that spot and just leaned his arm against the entryway of this kitchen.

"I get that a lot." Piers said quickly, exhaling heavily and placing both palms on the kitchen table between him and the other man in order to steady himself. "Okay. I _need_ a minute here." He said, closing his eyes and shaking his head before standing straight again, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I guess I'll just out and say it; "What are you thinking captain?" Piers was even sweatier than normal, but Chris was all too tired to deal with this.

"That's a question, not a statement Piers, did you even go to school?" Chris was so not a morning person. He moved around the table to fix himself some orange juice, only to find Piers flinching back away from him like he had some kind of infection. Chris raised his brow and gave him a stern look; he really wasn't in the mood for this. "Piers, what the _hell_ is wrong with _you_? You're acting weird." He scoffed and opened the refrigerator, pulling out a plastic container of orange juice that he badly needed to mix with some kind of alcohol.

"I'm not acting weird, you are!" Piers almost shouted, but it came out as more of a hushed whisper, like he didn't want the neighbors to hear. He wet his lips, like he was trying to find the words.

"Piers if you don't start talking soon I swear I will throw your ass out of here." He meant it too. Thankfully, Chris didn't as he had his hands full with pouring the juice in to a glass he had retrieved from the overhead cupboard.

Piers still wasn't talking; the distracting sound of pouring liquid snapped him out of it though. "What are you thinking? …Banging Jake Muller? God." He didn't even like to use his name, it left a foul taste in his mouth.

This was news to Chris.

His grasp on the glass faltered and he hissed, failing to catch the dropping glass, which shattered on impact with the tiled floor, sending splashes of juice down Chris' stomach and pants in an all too inappropriate manner.

"What the fuck are you talking about Piers!?" Chris yelled, angry at a number of things; one being the coldness seeping though his pants and the uncomfortable stickiness on his stomach. He quickly grabbed a towel and mopped himself, trying hard not to think about what Piers knew, or what he had found out, whichever didn't matter, he just hoped he could talk his way out of this rapidly increasing bad situation.

"That video! Of you! With your _cock_ out… doing it while that bastard Muller watched." Piers was red-faced and shaking a little.

Chris was about to angrily deny it some more, but he could see that would be no good. Jake had indeed made a recording of Chris masturbating, and it seems, he had rather cruelly sent it to Piers, who looked beyond nerve-wracked, and a little bit disgusted, and rightfully so as he was not too pleased with himself either. Chris bit his lip… _Leon's weird text_… who else had he sent that video to?

"Piers…" Chris begun, he wanted to apologize, but couldn't get the words out of his mouth. He was angry with Jake, but then again he was foolish to trust him of all people with discreetness. He had no right. And maybe that was what Jake was trying to do; taking something from him without his control, like Wesker from Jake and Piers from Chris.

"Don't bother… I don't _wanna_ know." Piers grimaced and got down on one knee, picking up the shards of glass. Chris felt helpless, leaning on the counter, struggling to even think straight let alone talk or _apologize_—for what? He wasn't quite sure.

"Piers…" Chris swallowed, the other man was much more upset than he was, and he couldn't let him be. He squatted down to pick up the glass. "…Leave it, I can clean up my own mess."

"You _obviously_ can't!" No sooner had Chris got down, than Piers tried to swat him away—cutting his hand in the process.

"God _damn_ Piers." Chris sighed, getting annoyed, pulling the other man to his feet and sitting him down on the kitchen table while he quickly collected bandages from the same cupboard and returning to him. He swept the shards away with the side of his foot, finally giving up on cleaning. He tried to take Piers' hand, but Piers defensively dragged the bleeding hand back to his chest.

"I'm _not_ a kid, captain." He said, almost convincingly.

Chris however, smiled in response. He couldn't help it, it was such a dumb thing to say. That frown on Piers' however, said he didn't appreciate the condescending expression.

"I _know_." Ignoring Piers' pride, Chris snatched his hand back and when it wasn't immediately returned, began to gently part the fingers and find the source of the cut. "I don't suppose there's any hope we can forget this Jake Muller thing?" He asked, trying to break the awkward silence, though failing and making it even more awkward following the grim look on Piers' face the moment Chris let Jake's name slip.

Surprisingly, Piers didn't say no. He just shrugged, and watched as Chris tenderly wrapped his hand in bandages. All he said was:

"There's always hope."

Piers didn't stay long, he left just a soon as he managed to tell Chris that if he saw Jake, he'd sock him one in the nose. Yes, he managed to stay long enough for Chris to tell him what actually happened over the last few days. He wasn't too impressed, but seemed like it would blow over eventually. Chris _hoped_ it would.

After a long cold shower, Chris decided that he wasn't going to act on Jakes downright evil leaking of the video, otherwise he figured something else would just happen that he would steadfastly regret. But he would confront him, no sneaking, no rope or plans of kidnap. He wanted to talk.

It seemed he had an excuse.

After his shower, he had dressed in dark jeans and tight white tank top. The screen of his cell phone revealed he had received a new text while he was in the shower. He didn't know how Jake found all of these phone numbers because he certainly didn't give him his number and he doubted Piers did either.

It read: "Hey Redfield. Got somethin of yours. U want bck?" It was sent with an attachment which when opening turned out to be a picture Jake had taken of himself with his cell phone camera; of Jake holding Chris' underwear up to his nose.

Chris then remembered, he had pulled up his pants in such a haste he hadn't bothered to collect his underwear, thus leaving them on the floor there in Jake's hideout. _Great_.

This time he made no plans, and if Jake would intend torture or sexually abuse him, he'd just firmly state his position to no longer play these games with him anymore, they were just too damaging to both of them in many ways and the repercussions were becoming too much to handle.

He felt like he was heading to a break-up.

"About time." Jake called from the upstairs as Chris entered the hideout. Apparently he either had weird supersonic senses or he had set up some kind of hidden surveillance because this was the second time Jake knew he was coming. He walked up the stairs, feet making noise on the steel steps since he didn't see the point in sneaking anymore. It felt strange, like he was walking in to a trap, but it was much more subtle, because the sun was shining through the broken windows and there was Jake, sat sprawled out across a ratty old couch he'd understandably dug out from somewhere.

Jake was smoking casually, watching some terrible game show on the small television in front of the couch—he'd repositioned the room so the back of the television was facing the stairs. He didn't so much as look his direction.

Chris despised his ego; he just knew that it wouldn't have made a difference if it was an armed battalion instead of him marching up the stairs he still would be laid there nonchalantly. He walked up to the side of the couch where Jake had his feet propped. Jake was wearing Chris' underwear over his pants like some kind of kid dressing up like a superhero.

"You took your time. Have fun with Nivans did ya?" He puffed smoke in Chris' direction. It became clear quite early on the Jake was expecting to piss him off- To mock him and flaunt his disregard of his feelings. But Chris was through playing.

"You are one hell of a bastard Muller." Was all that Chris said.

Jake smirked in response, and cocked his head. "Thanks man." He flicked the burned out cigarette in Chris's direction lazily before overturning himself in to a sitting position, his smirk transforming in to a grin. "So you gonna do something about it?" Jake taunted.

"No I'm not, 'cause I'm not going to fuck up any more." Chris puffed out his chest and crossed his arms; Jake did a damn good job of pissing him off.

"Yeah? Well, that's a shame." Jake briefly turned his attention back to the television before looking back to Chris. "So what're ya doing here?"

Chris smiled. "I'm here to tell you that this thing, this hate thing, it needs to stop." He was rather hoping Jake would put up a fight strangely; he was in the mood to take out his aggression on him, though it didn't look like things were heading that way for once.

"Okay no problem."

Chris had to double take.

"You don't wanna have fun then that's your choice." Jake smirked with self-satisfaction, like he thought he could just trick Chris in to making more cheap blackmail material.

"I don't call being tortured fun."

"Why am I not surprised? You're too goody-two-shoes Redfield." By now, Jake had got off the couch and was face to face with the other man, trying to lure him in to striking out. "If I didn't know better I'd say you need a good hard fuck." He was being more than personal, but Chris wasn't going to fall for in any more.

"And I suppose you're the one to give me that are you?" He raised his brow. He had a smile on his face, any fear he may have had in coming to Jakes place had already dissipated and he was no longer fearful.

Jake laughed and turned away, losing his nerve? He busied himself with trying to tune in the crappy TV that looked like it wouldn't pick up more than two channels. "Well… You're a tight-ass by nature but hey I'm an open-minded guy." He was not being serious.

"I'll pass." Chris replied.

"Eh, suit yourself, I have other buddies to play with." Jake wasn't tempting him, it wasn't as though he didn't agree, he had gone unfucked for way too long, but unfortunately for Jake, he wouldn't be the one.

A couple of days after the aftermath, Chris Redfield woke up, but he wasn't alone; next to him laid a very warm real body; dark hair nestled itself into his chest and for the first time in what felt like forever, he didn't feel like going out and getting in to trouble.

With the trouble with Jake behind him, Chris had managed to convince his bedmate to forgive his actions and he found himself begging him to stay—an action which he knew, from the very start he would _not_ regret. It was an unexpected turn of events for the both of them, but if had learned anything from being the subject of blackmail, Piers would not do that to him.

Jake however, continued to be himself.

Chris had rather hoped that he would have learned something too, but when he received a _very_ explicit text video of Leon Kennedy gagging on Jakes cock followed by; "_Told ya I had other buddies ;)"_

Chris knew Jake wouldn't learn. He may have even tried talking to him again, but all in all, when all was said and done… Jake was Jake. And Jake never really gave a fuck.

-End


End file.
